In The Corner of His Mind Palace
by JinxedSydney
Summary: Three women mattered to Sherlock Holmes. Rather, they occupied rooms of his mind palace, the most sacred place of all.


Three women mattered to Sherlock Holmes. Rather, they occupied rooms of his mind palace, the most sacred place of all. Most of the female species failed to even obtain a glance, let alone a passing thought; too much drama and far too little deliberation.

Mrs. Hudson was the closest thing to a maternal figure that Sherlock had. For her lack of thought, she made up for in her obvious display of love. Eternally suffering through his experiments, with no lack of useless dialog, she had placed herself in harm's way more than once for him. Taken hostage, she verified her loyalty to her upstairs tenant. Tears in her eyes reflected affection that Sherlock never had growing up. He admitted, to no one but himself, that although he would lack his intellectual prowess had she been his biological mother, she fulfilled a miniscule part of him that craved a mother's approval.

The Woman. Plucking the violin strings as it laid on his lap, Sherlock heard her ring tone in his mind. He had ultimately played into her into a corner and felt a twinge of guilt as he exposed her password. She was the woman that had experienced everything she had ever wanted and lacked for nothing, both in power and money. As he threw it into her face that she had been ruled by her heart, he knew very well that he stood at the precipice himself. He had reduced Irene to rubble and only felt a weight lift when she had boarded a plane departing Karachi. Somewhere, she was alive and he felt a sense of relief knowing that. It would be a waste of a beautiful mind had she been beheaded.

Molly Hooper had been a surprise to find in a mall corner of his mind palace. Unassumingly, she had inserted herself into his life and become a source of great grief and reprieve. Her lipstick and stolen glances irritated Sherlock to no end, but her acceptance of his extreme experiments and her unquestionable forensic work drove him to return to her every time. Whereas Irene had experienced everything, Molly was entirely opposite. Her insight into his grief as he saw Moriarty tear down everything he had ever achieved caught Sherlock so off guard that he was defenseless. Just an off the cuff remark about Molly literally seeing him again permeated him with a grief for her that he never knew he had. Of course she counted. She was Molly. His Molly Hooper. She had worn lipstick to match her present to him. She had given up lunches and dinners to fancy his theories. Her trust in Sherlock was only paralleled by John's. Sherlock knew that had he asked, she would have done anything to protect him, even if it was to her own end.

Soft steps fell on the landing, interrupting his thoughts, before a key turned in the door. He didn't even offer to help as she struggled in with bags of groceries and Chinese food. Her ordinary brown hair had mostly fallen from her hair clip. "A bit of help, Sherlock?"

He just stared for a bit before getting to his feet. He knew that he would leave her flat soon. Sherlock reached forward purposefully grasped Molly's hand for just a few seconds before relieving her of the bags. He wanted to thank her in a way that she would remember, in a way that would alleviate her hurt when he abandoned her within a week. As her face flushed to a deep red and she started to stammer a reply, he added, "Thank you Molly. Did you remember the chopsticks this time?" No sense in giving her any extra sentiment to remember when he had little himself.

Molly droned on about work and Sherlock stayed civil. Midway through the chow mein she quietly said, "You are leaving, aren't you? No, don't answer that. I just want to be this way until you go." So he remained silent, but observed as she blinked back the tears and kept her voice from wavering.

His note to her was simple. With a sense of irony, he thought it absurd that she should get a note when his best friend only received a call. Immediately, he thought it odd that not only did John become his "best friend," but he now considered Molly a friend. Not the same type though; not the one to sit next to wrapped in a sheet in Buckingham Palace or handcuffed to or knowing that his shot had saved your life. As hard as he tried to rationalize it, he knew that she would never be evicted from his mind palace. He trusted her implicitly. His frigid heart had thawed to her sloppy work clothes, incessant rambling and brown eyes that seemed to voice his deepest concerns as he struggled to keep them hidden.

"You will always count to me, Molly Hooper. Thank you. ~SH"


End file.
